The Threefold Bond
by Elwa
Summary: A dwarf, a human, and an elf. They meet as children. Will they survive each other long enough to form the fellowship? AU Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli first meeting.
1. Two Parties and a Feast

Title: The Threefold Bond

Author: Elwa

Summary: A dwarf, a human, and an elf. Together it sounds like the beginning of a joke. But this is the story of just such a bond, but it takes place long before they become the fellowship. Meet Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli as children. Pre-fellowship.

Genre: AU

Warnings: I do not intend this to become particularly dark, but there will likely be some violence in later chapters in which dark creatures are gorily dismembered and young warriors might potentially be injured. This is also a work in progress, so my writing in it might be a bit sporadic. I have been known to drop a story for months before I pick it back up again. If you find this too annoying, I advise you not to read this until it is marked 'complete'.

Rating: PG (for now. Actually, for now it's probably G, but to be safe I'll say PG)

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

Author's Note: I am aware that Legolas is much older than I have made him. (I'm not sure if Tolkien ever gives an exact age, but his comments at Fanghorn certainly indicate he is rather old). I am also aware that it is somewhat of a tradition among writers to make elven children age at an infinitely slower rate than humans, preferring to say that their age is equivalent to such and such an age for humans. This seems unlikely to me, though truthfully the only reason I am not sticking to that tradition is because I wanted to make Legolas younger than both Aragorn and Gimli while still making it feasible for him to go on the ring quest. I also suspect Gimli is rather older than I made him. Basically, I played around with everyone's ages to make them closer to each other. This story is AU, meaning that if you notice any discrepancies between my story and the canon text, (and there will likely be a lot, I'm not an expert by any means) then simply assume it's because it's an alternate universe. But let me know anyway, especially if it has to do with language; constructive reviews are always appreciated.

Chapter 1

Two Parties and a Feast

To say that dwarves never get along with elves is a myth. It is true, they have had many differences of perspective. But there have been mighty alliances between the races in the past; Moria is evidence of that, despite its bitter end. And where companionship is lacking, trading opportunities open many doors. So it was that thirteen dwarves once passed through the halls of Elrond the half-elven, and that meeting paved the way for a longer and fuller friendship. Some twenty years after the dwarves had settled beneath the Lonely Mountain, Gloin returned with a number of his people in the interest of friendship and trade. The timing of this journey proved to be rather unfortunate.

These dwarves have little quarrel with the elves of Imladris. This is not true of their relationship with the elves of Mirkwood. Such as those who had arrived almost within the same hour, including none other than the despised King Thranduil himself. Some days, Elrond felt it was not worth getting out of bed. All he needed for this disaster to be perfect was for Mithrandir and another string of adventurers to come along, perhaps a group of reformed goblins. Surely they would be less of a headache than trying to house a party of Mirkwood elves and a faction of belligerent dwarves together, no matter how far apart their guest quarters are assured to be. The worst was when they attempted to mask their hatred in politeness.

"Of course I have no trouble residing near our dear forest neighbors," Gloin declared heartily, "It will be a learning experience for all of us. Perhaps when they partake in your hospitality they may even learn something of how to house their guests!" No, of course the dwarf wasn't bitter about that little matter of imprisonment during their quest. All was said with a smile, or at least a resemblance of bared teeth.

"I'm sure you won't find Elrond's hospitality lacking," one of the Mirkwood elves agreed, though it wasn't Thranduil himself who spoke, "There must be some room in the cellars among the wine barrels." Elrond strongly resisted turning and fleeing, leaving the two parties on his doorstep to self destruct. He could come back in an hour and nothing would be left to do but a little clean up.

"Are you saying dwarves enjoy their drink a bit too much?" Gloin demanded, his tone just short of hostile. He blatantly ignored the barrel jibe. Probably better for dwarves and elves if that whole incident was discreetly forgotten. The elf raised an eyebrow in utter innocence.

"I only suggested you would be more at home underground," he said, "Do _you_ believe dwarves to have a problem with drink?" It was at this point that Elrond made a more aggressive attempt to play as gracious host.

"I have rooms made up that should satisfy all your needs," he said, ignoring the heated glares and already trying to juggle in his head how to manage the upcoming days. It would be easier if he knew exactly why Thranduil had suddenly decided to grace him with a visit. It was a long way for anyone to travel, let alone a king, and with children no less. He could just make out the boy sitting wide eyed on his pony, surrounded as he was by horses and elves. He was the only one still mounted. The dwarves had no mounts but only because they had already been settled within the hour before the elves arrived. Elrond had just been about to see them to their rooms, in fact, when the sound of hooves ringing over stone announced the second party. Just five minutes was all he would have needed to avoid this entire confrontation.

"This is Elladan, my son," Elrond continued, motioning towards an elf who was quite young by immortal standards, though certainly not the elfling who still sat shyly upon his mount, "Let him show you to your rooms and make sure they are to your liking." Gloin nodded, appeased perhaps that he at least warranted a son of his host showing him the way, and Elrond was able to breathe a silent sigh of relief as the dwarves were led out of sight. Only then did he stand properly before Thranduil while motioning for their horses to be taken care of. The young one finally slid from his own mount and was soon lost in the faction of much taller men surrounding him.

"King Thranduil," Elrond said, giving a short bow of respect which the king returned in kind, "This meeting is most welcome, though rather unexpected. How fares Mirkwood and its people?"

"Tired," the king answered shortly, "The shadows lengthen, my friend." He hesitated for a brief second, before making subtle motions towards his men, and soon two elves stood at the king's side. One had dark hair of similar features to the king himself, and though it is immensely difficult to tell the ages of elves once they pass into true adulthood, Elrond got a sense that this elf was not so very old, probably of similar age to his own sons. The second elf, by sharp contrast, was easy to divine the age of as the top of his head did not come much past the king's waist. His hair was a surprising white to match his father's golden tresses, but his features did not so closely match.

"May I present my sons," Thranduil announced, "I believe you have met Prince Sidhodoron." He motioned towards the elder of the two, who inclined his head politely. Elrond welcomed him in return, acknowledging that they had met, though it had been many years since that time. It was hard to be of an immortal race and not, at some point or other, cross paths with most everyone. "And this is Prince Legolas, my youngest son." Here he presented the child, who bowed his head with equal decorum to his elders. Elrond welcomed him as well, then motioned for his own child to approach.

"You have seen my son Elladan," Elrond said, referring to the one sent to take care of the dwarves. He purposefully did not elaborate on where Elladan was now, not wanting to remind the elves of the dwarves' presence, but instead said "This is his brother Elrohir." An elf identical to the one who had left stood next to his father. "My foster son Estel is currently with his tutor, but I am sure you will be able to see him at the evening meal. There will be a feast, to celebrate your arrival." And the arrival of the dwarves, but it wouldn't do to say that now. "Now, please let Elrohir show you to your rooms." Thranduil agreed, though there were tumultuous emotions showing behind his eyes. It made Elrond uneasy, but now was not the time to make demands. Thranduil would reveal the reasons behind his visit soon enough.

Elrohir led the elves away, the king and the princes in the lead. It was not long before the courtyard was empty, only the stirring of dirt and leaves upon the ground revealing their passing. Elrond could not help but think of it as the calm before the storm.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Legolas Thranduilion was not the only child to have arrived at Imladris that day. Gimli, son of Gloin also stood at his father's side. He was only slightly shorter than the adult dwarves, a youth on the verge of puberty. Aside from being short even for a dwarf, he had yet to begin to grow a beard, a fact that he did not find pleasing at all. He had many friends of a similar age who already sported a slight fuzziness about their chins while his was as smooth as any infant. But today, it was not his beardless state that had him looking cross.

"I don't like it here," he grumbled, holding onto a small war hammer tightly while his father began to unpack, "Cellars indeed. Did you truly find rest within these walls upon your journey?"

"Elves may be flighty sorts of creatures," Gloin answered patiently, though there was a warning tone to his voice that his son had better back off and heed his words, "But Lord Elrond is a decent sort. And elves do know a thing or two about music and cloth, I'll give them that."

"Is that what we came here for, to trade for trinkets?" Gimli demanded scornfully, "And for this I must be polite among poor company and leave behind my ax and hammers?"

"It is a matter of pride to show your manners even with elves," Gloin answered sharply, "And it is cowardly to wear weapons ready in another's home; it shows you fear them. You stay away from those Mirkwood elves and they can stay away from you. What we are here for is too important for an old feud, no matter how well justified it is. We trade for alliances against the darkness, not merely for trinkets, as you say." Gimli nodded in response, suddenly feeling very young and foolish. How could he ever prove himself to be a mature warrior when he quarreled with his elders at every turn, like a child throwing a tantrum when told to put away his toys? Then his father winked at him as he slid a small knife into a sheath hidden up his sleeve and Gimli's grin returned. Of course they should not openly bear arms about this haven of peace, but that did not mean they had to walk defenseless. Gimli should have known his father wouldn't be so quick to abandon his weapons.

In truth and despite his uneasy mutterings, Gimli was excited to explore this place. Some of his earliest memories were of sitting on his father's knee while being told a wondrous tale about a dragon, goblins, trolls, and elves. There was also a wizard and a hobbit involved and quite a good deal of magic and excitement. The great hero Thorin Oakenshield was imprinted early on his memory, as well as the names of his thirteen companions. Most children believed their fathers to be heroes, but Gimli knew his to be one. And now, here Gimli was directly in the middle of one of his father's stories. Imladris was always mentioned with fondness, which was odd because in any other occurrence Gloin would curse the existence of elves.

"Do you suppose there will be music like you described?" he asked as he finally relinquished his hold on his hammer, "And food and wine?"

"You won't be drinking more than one glass," Gloin answered, eyeing his son warily, but it was hard to resist his excitement, "And I suppose you will get to see for yourself soon enough. It doesn't seem to have changed much since for all that it's been twenty years." Gimli grinned eagerly, still unable to quite believe he was here. The entire trip had been exciting, especially crossing the Misty Mountains. There had been no wizard to guide them but despite the youth's secret desires for battle they met no difficulty. Now, here among the elves, he found himself wondering if they couldn't continue on, retracing the steps of that legendary journey right back to the burglar's dwelling. He didn't know how to feel here, caught between old legends and an ancient grudge, each equally a part of his bedtime stories.

In the meantime, a youth of even fewer years than the dwarf followed his own father and brother into their rooms. Thranduil did not unpack; he let his attendants do this task for him in deference to his role as king, though he did look after his weapons himself. His sons did the same, his youngest partaking in the unpacking more actively because his father believed in discipline and learning by experience even more than he believed in pride and station. It had certainly worked well with the elder, who was now given responsibilities of a less menial nature and allowed to receive similar ministrations as the king. Though all three had separate rooms, they were all connected by large, open doorways that had only light curtains to create a sense of privacy between them. The curtains were open now, making it feel almost like one very long room rather than three.

"I thought you said all dwarves wore beards down to their toes," Legolas said as he unfolded a night tunic before laying it away, "But those men only had beards to their knees, and one of them didn't have a beard at all." Thranduil raised an eyebrow at that; he himself hadn't spotted the novelty of a beardless dwarf, though to be fair he had been avoiding looking in their direction at all.

"They only appeared short, because of how they were braided and tied up," the child's brother said, though his eyes were not on Legolas but on the pretty maiden busy laying away his father's tunics, "And perhaps the beardless one was a woman. It is difficult to say with dwarves." Legolas frowned.

"But Curanion says that dwarves don't have women. Aule made them to grow from the earth and their beards are really lichen that they braid like hair." At that his brother laughed out loud though Thranduil frowned.

"I have talked to you about listening to that man," he muttered, "Dwarves do not grow from stone anymore than men are really dwarves with a growth defect and spiders did not learn speech by eating an elfling's tongue." That last story had been the source of many nightmares and sleepless nights. Legolas nodded his head solemnly.

"Now," Thranduil said, "Let us bathe away the dust of our journey and get ready for this feast Elrond spoke of. And do not speak of the dwarves while we are there, Legolas, ignore their presence. It is rude to speak of your host's other guests in such a manner, no matter who those guests are." Legolas nodded his head sagely, though in truth he understood little of what his father was talking about. At any rate, the child was well versed in how to act at important social events, tedious though such behavior could be. And the excitement of getting to leave home and see the famous Imladris was well worth having to watch his manners. Even more exciting he had actually seen real live dwarves, a creature he had only heard of in stories before as they seldom crossed into Mirkwood, the last event happening well before he was born. Perhaps Elrond would also happen to host some men or Halflings or even a wizard; that would be truly brilliant. This was one feast he could not wait to attend.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

This was one feast Elrond wished that he could avoid. The same could not be said for the young man eagerly running about his study. He was supposed to be relating what he had learned that day, but the youth sounded much more interested in hearing about their visitors.

"I don't think I've ever seen a dwarf before," Estel proclaimed, wandering over to a painting and then back to his seat again, "and the only elf from Mirkwood that ever came was that gruff warrior who didn't seem to want to talk to anyone."

"Mirkwood prefers to keep to itself," Elrond responded, "And you were sick the last time we had a party of dwarves visit."

"Oh yes," Estel answered, making a face. He vaguely remembered that disappointment, though most of his sick time was a blur of lying in bed, drinking medicine, and feeling icky. Not dwelling long on that past instance, he turned towards Elrond once again to ask, "Were there any youths with the elves or dwarves?" Elven children were a rare occurrence, and there were none in Imladris close to Estel's age.

"As a matter of fact, Gloin's son appears to be close to your age," Elrond answered, smiling slightly at the way Estel's face lit up, "And Prince Legolas has come as well, though he is younger than you. Still, do not slight him for his age if he wishes to join you." Estel scoffed at the stern directive tacked onto the end; as if he, who himself was too often left out from his youth, would do such a thing to another. Besides, he rarely had the chance to show off for someone younger than himself. Unless the prince turned out to be a boring cry baby, he would have no trouble with him. And there was a dwarf his own age! Two exciting things to happen at the same time.

"Go," Elrond said, giving up on hearing about Estel's lesson that afternoon, "And don't forget to wear your fine clothes for the feast." Such was Estel's excitement that he didn't even complain about his formal ware. Though not overly uncomfortable, the robes always made the youth afraid he'd spill something, and the twins were always teasing him about dressing like a lord, never mind that they had to wear the same outfits. Still, on this one occasion, it would be worth it.


	2. The Ailment of Youth

Chapter 2

The Ailment of Youth

The feast hall was huge, with open doorways leading into gardens and halls and yet more rooms for feasting or singing or dancing or even sleeping. But no matter how much room was reserved for the feast, it was miniscule compared to the necessary space to house Mirkwood elves and Erebor dwarves together without conflict. As such a space could not possibly be contained within a single kingdom, the only thing standing between peace and chaos was the neutral ground and the determination of both parties not to be the first to crack. For now, the palpable discomfort between the two was reserved to dark looks and sharp tongues masked in honeyed manners. Elrond, uncharacteristically, found himself inhaling his first glass of wine in the hopes that it would quiet his growing headache. And considering he was a formidable healer, it said a lot about his state of mind that he would resort to such a remedy.

"I think it is going well," his companion said at his side, causing the lord to give his friend a look of disbelief.

"Maybe in comparison to balrogs and darkness and death," Elrond agreed, but his eyebrow was raised as though to suggest this feast only just fell short. He didn't respond to his companion's grin, sure that he was enjoying the tension far too much. Instead he looked around, keeping an eye and an ear out for trouble. For the moment, everyone was still seated and so there was little chance for mischief, but that wouldn't last long. And as much as he would have liked to house the different parties in two separate rooms, etiquette demanded that his guests be given places of honor, which placed them far too close to each other for Elrond's peace of mind. His eyes alighted briefly upon the children stationed throughout the room.

His own foster son was stuck between the twins, both in the hopes that they would keep Estel in line and that Estel would keep them separated and theoretically less inclined to mischief. Elrond doubted it would work; more likely the twins would give in to their more puerile impulses with the excuse of their companion's youth. For now he could find no fault with their manners, except perhaps in the way Estel stared with wide, interested eyes towards the guests, and Elrond could not bring himself to fault him for that. Most often, Estel's eyes strayed towards the other children. Legolas, seated between his brother and another of his kin, looked just as interested. Gimli hid it better, already copying the dour glares of his elders, but he also seemed intent upon looking around, and his eyes landed upon Estel and the young prince more than anywhere else.

"It is a sad state of affairs," Elrond remarked, "When the children behave civilized where their parents are not."

"Are you not feeling civilized then?" his companion asked, his eyes flickering momentarily towards the twins and Estel as though to remind Elrond he, himself, was such a parent. Elrond shrugged.

"At the moment, I am feeling anything but," he answered, before standing to give the usual welcoming toasts. His guests did not disappoint in his expectations, their own toasts mounting in their honeyed viciousness as each tried to outdo the other. The elves of Imladris watched the veiled war with great delight, except of course for Elrond who had some responsibility in keeping the peace.

In the meantime, the more youthful of the feast goers were growing bored. Gimli found it all very well to throw insults at elves, but it was rather vexing to hear what they had to say in kind, and at any rate he was full and growing weary of adult talk. He may like to put on the airs of adulthood, but he didn't have the patience for it. When he finally noticed several elves leaving the table and wandering off into the garden, he took it as a sign that the seated portion of the feast might be over and asked his father permission to leave. It was given along with all those stern reminders his father always gave at special events, only a few added in light of the elven development. He was not to talk to the Mirkwood elves, he was not to play with his weapons in public, and he was to avoid offering insult to anyone. Then Gimli was free and he slid from the tension filled room for the open air of a garden.

Estel almost missed his leaving, for he had been listening at that moment to his brothers. The twins were delighting in the tension, taking turns in picking sides first with the elves and then with the dwarves as though to egg them on. Estel didn't know what all the trouble was about. He had learned a good deal of history, of course, but most of that was elven or human and touched very little on exactly when, where, or why the elves and dwarves began their feud. Then he turned his head and saw that his potential companion had left his chair. Turning his head quickly, he only just saw the young dwarf escape into the cool night air. Estel was quick to follow, or would have been if Elrohir hadn't grabbed the back of his robe.

"And where are you off to?" he asked, his voice stern but his eyes dancing.

"To socialize," Estel answered, "So that our guests are not neglected. Elladan laughed at his answer.

"Aha!" he cried to his brother as Elrohir slowly released Estel's robes, "He goes attend our guests, as is the proper behavior for his station, not to escape long winded speeches as you thought!" Estel didn't stay to see what the other twin responded, though he was careful to walk with decorum rather than run with all the grace of a stampeding Oliphant, as he was first inclined to do. He caught up to the dwarf easily. Gimli hadn't gone far, perhaps unsure of where to make for once his escape was assured.

"Good evening, master dwarf," Estel said politely, but his grin belonged purely to his brothers when Gimli jumped and spun around, his hand groping instinctively for non-existent weapons. The dwarf tempered his glare in light of his father's warnings as he looked the other over.

"You are short for an elf," was his final answer, which just begged for the point that Gimli himself was short for a dwarf, but Estel refrained, still hoping to entice a friendship.

"I am Estel, son of Elrond," he said instead, "And I am not fully grown."

"I am Gimli, son of Gloin," Gimli answered, suddenly nervous now that he knew the youth's father. And then there didn't seem to be anything to say at all, and both youths stood uncomfortably. Finally, Gimli thought to add, "I am not fully grown, either." Estel grinned in return.

"So I have heard," he said, "Though I'm afraid you'll find this is not a common ailment to this place. We are, in fact, a rare occurrence." Gimli frowned slightly, not used to this manner of speech.

"What is your age?" he finally asked.

"Thirteen years, almost," Estel answered, standing tall. He still fell short of the height of a grown elf, but he towered over the dwarf.

"And I'm thirteen years in full," the dwarf answered triumphantly. So he was the oldest. Estel shrugged as though to say it didn't matter, though they both knew it did. Estel took comfort in the fact that he was still bigger, if not older.

"And we are both older than the prince," he suddenly remembered. Gimli frowned, bewildered in the direction of the conversation.

"What prince is this?" he asked.

"Prince Legolas," Estel answered, "The one with white hair. Did you not notice him?"

"Ah, the Mirkwood prince," Gimli answered, wrinkling his nose, "What does it matter his age?"

"Only in that he and we are the only present here this side of twenty," Estel answered, shrugging as though to show how unimportant he found it, though the hungry look in his eyes betrayed him. Gimli stared at him in utter disbelief, finally getting his earlier ailment words.

"Are you saying that there are no other elven children in all this entire place?" he demanded, not entirely sure he wasn't being teased. At home he had often grown annoyed in the way his youthful companions were always underfoot, particularly the youngest who wanted to follow their elders in play. He couldn't imagine anyplace with so many people that was completely devoid in youth.

"Elves are immortal," Estel answered with a shrug, "If they had babies like men or dwarves, all of Middle Earth would be overrun with them by now. And they have time to wait before they choose to have children. Though often several couples will choose the attempt close to each other, so that their children might have companions.

"Then what happened with you?" Gimli asked, wrinkling his nose a bit at the idea of deliberately having children in concert. How strange elves were. Estel gave Gimli an odd look.

"I'm not an elf," he finally answered. The dwarf looked the other boy over in surprise. At this age, his build still slim and child-like, there was little to distinguish Estel as different from those around him, at least to someone who wasn't an elf. He even walked like them and despite being physically heavier he had managed to develop a grace and stealth that made him appear as ethereal as his kin. When Gimli continued to stare at him, as though to make out just what sort of strange being he was talking to, Estel expanded to say, "I'm a man."

"Not yet, you aren't," a voice responded, causing the dwarf to yet again leap out of his skin as two elves materialized from the shadows like phantoms. There features were so alike it was eerie, as though one was the mirror of the other. Estel didn't react at all, as though he had known they were there all along.

"I mean to say that I am not an elf," Estel answered, not even turning around, "And in that sense I am more man than you will ever be." The phantom elves laughed and walked on, leaving the to themselves.

"My brothers," Estel said with a shrug, "They're twins, in case you couldn't tell." Gimli frowned.

"But, they're elves," he said, "How can elves and a man be brothers?" Estel opened his mouth to answer, closed it again, and then grinned in a way that was eerily similar to his proclaimed brothers.

"Have you not heard the story of Elrond the half-elven?" he asked, his eyes twinkling, "And his brother Elros?" Gimli shook his head; tells of elves were rare under the mountain, except in the guise of humor or in the occasional story of battle. Estel looked surprised for a moment, but quickly continued his tale.

"My father is the son of Earendil, a man, and Elwing, an elf," he said, greatly simplifying their heritage for the sake of the story, "And though Elrond has the aspects of an elf, his twin brother had the aspects of a man. But my father is not fully elven, and so it was that I was born a man, and my brothers and sister elves."

"Sister?" Gimli asked, still looking uncertain.

"So I have been told," Estel answered, "She lives now in Lothlorien. I've never met her." Gimli continued to stare at the youth, not sure if he believed him. It made no sense at all, for a human to be born of an elf, and no matter what Estel said, Elrond looked every part an elf. Then again, there was a certain familial resemblance between them all, though Gimli had found that all elves pretty much looked alike.

"Come!" Estel said suddenly, "This garden grows crowed. Would you like me to show you around? What do you prefer, music, dance, talk, or weapons?" At the last word, Gimli's eyes lit up before he remembered what his father had said.

"Are there weapons at a feast?" he asked, his fingers inching towards the inner lining of his sleeves where he had two small knives strapped. Estel grinned.

"Not at the feast," he answered, "But there are some by the practice grounds. Do you wish to see? Or would you rather stay and listen to song a bit?" And though Gimli was very curious to hear elven music, to see if it was at all like he imagined in his father's tales, the enticement of weapons was far stronger.

"Let us go!" he cried heartily, and together they left the garden and the sounds of merrymaking behind.


	3. Grounds for Weapons

Chapter 3

Grounds for Weapons

Young Prince Legolas had a much more difficult time escaping his elders. He, too, noticed the youths' escape, but being both a prince and a few years younger, it was not easy to follow. His father felt that his son leaving early, even with the excuse of his age, would be indecent. His sons would learn decorum and etiquette and how to sit interested at a table no matter how tedious or boring the truth may be. So Legolas sat upright and still for all of five entire minutes, until he noticed his father had turned his stern gaze upon one of the dwarves across the table. His brother, likewise, was engaged in speaking with said dwarf. And with both guardians otherwise engaged, Legolas slid free from the table.

His flight did not go completely unnoticed, of course. Curanion, seated at the young prince's side, happened to look down and see the empty chair, and a quick glance about the room showed the small figure to be slipping away into the garden. Rather than alert the crown prince or, worse, the king to his own lapse in vigilance, the elf chose to follow his young charge instead. And though his size was against him for making a clean escape, by the time Prince Sidhodoron noticed the two empty seats at his side, the elven warrior was already too far away to be discretely called back. Thranduil did not outwardly respond to his son's disappearance, or call for someone to go after them, so for the moment the escape was allowed.

Once in the garden, Legolas momentarily gave up his pursuit in favor of walking delightedly between the trees. This soon gave way to walking among the branches, until he came to a stop above the man and dwarf, just in time to listen to a preposterous tale rooted in truth. Unlike Gimli, Legolas had heard the story of Elrond's ancestry. He also had been told, as obviously the dwarf had not, about Elrond fostering a human child. Obviously this child was telling a tale about being Elrond's real son. Legolas thought about coming down to them and pointing out the lie, but he was not sure that would be polite. For now, he allowed his curiosity in the two to be manifested by following them like a shadow among the trees.

Curanion was having slightly less luck as a shadow. What Legolas lacked in experience he more than made up for in size, and once he was in the trees he was able to go by paths that a grown elf could never manage. The warrior did not even attempt it, in fact, but followed on the ground while keeping track of the slight movement of the child's flight with his eyes. This would have been impossible if it weren't for the fact that those the prince shadowed were also on the ground, and so he went much slower than he otherwise might have gone. If he was aware that he was followed, he gave no sign.

Ignorant of either follower, Estel lead Gimli through winding halls and garden paths away from the melodies of flute, harp, or tongue, away from voices raised in laughter or song, and into the quieter, stiller music of the night. Gimli did not care for it, for though he was well at home in darkness, the paths were brightly lit and blinded him to the surrounding shadows of the wild land that grew above the ground. Still, the promise of weapons practice, and perhaps a mock battle between the two, more than made up for any reluctance. They arrived at last to a large open space on the edge of the buildings. There were fields here where horses were let to run and a series of archery targets had been arranged. Estel did not make for the archery range or open fields but instead towards a small building close to the stables.

There were other elves around, of course; not even for a feast would Elrond leave his outer houses unguarded, particularly a place that housed animals or weapons. But they were trained sentinels and made no notice of those they identified as no threat, not even to show that they marked their arrival. In fact, the only notice they gave at all was when Legolas quietly greeted the elf he found perched in his tree before he had to vacate the trees altogether. Then the elf smiled and responded quietly in kind, but did not otherwise move or speak. Legolas, however, was used to such simplistic responses from guards on duty and would not have felt slighted if the elf had made no answer at all.

Legolas approached the others softly, unsure if he was ready to show himself or not. On the one hand, one of them was a dwarf and he had been told not to speak to the dwarves. But he was a young dwarf, and, like Estel, Legolas had no one close to his own age within his father's court. The curiosity of meeting children, even older children who were not elves, was too much to resist. So he settled on trailing them silently for now, and hoped that they would not turn him away. Even if one was a dwarf and the other apparently inclined towards lies.

Within the building, the two youths in question were having great fun examining the practice weapons. Estel had begun by showing the familiar mock weapons made of wood or of metal with dulled edges. But Gimli had first boasted that no dwarf would be caught practicing with a toy weapon and then to ask if elves were so dull that they only thought to use swords or arrows, out of all the possible implements for destruction.

"Hammers and axes, those are true weapons," Gimli insisted, "I could throw an ax dead on twenty feet by the time I turned five."

"Well, I could propel an arrow twice as far as that when I was five," Estel answered hotly, "And hammers are barbarian weapons like a goblin might use."

"Ha!" Gimli cried, "Trust an elf child to think weapons should be elegant art; I'd rather a solid hammer and sharpened ax any day to flimsy wood and sculptured blades."

"Trust a dwarf to stoop to crude blunt heavy things when light and deadly can be had," Estel answered, "My arrows and sword could kill twenty orcs by the time you got your heavy ax to cleave through one, that is if you aren't full of orc arrows before you can even move."

"You think dwarves heavy and clumsy!" Gimli cried, outrage in his voice, "I'll bet you've never even been in a proper battle! I just came all the way over the Misty Mountains, right through goblin territory."

"So, I hear you didn't meet any," Estel answered, "And if you had, you'd have been stuck full of arrows! Now if I was there, I'd dance about so fast they wouldn't touch me, and I'd slice them to pieces."

"You wouldn't!" the dwarf cried, "You'd dance around like a fool while the real warriors took care of them! Or do you want to kill them with that wooden stick?" Estel dropped the practice sward, his face burning red as he glared down at the dwarf.

"I could best you!" Estel cried, "With or without weapons!"

"Unarmed combat!" the dwarf answered, hot and gleeful all at once, "A challenge! No weapons or armor allowed!"

"And no crying to Daddy afterwards," Estel answered just as hotly, yet cautiously as he shed his outer cloak. Gimli, likewise, was laying aside his top shirt as well as the knife hidden up his sleeve. He nodded curtly and then both boys started to circle each other in the big open combat space. Though Estel was taller he had yet to approach such a formidable height to really intimidate the young dwarf. Gimli was short but solid and muscled and the competition looked as if it could go either way. Gimli made the first swing towards Estel's solar plexus with considerable force which, if it had connected, might have ended the fight before it began. But Estel dodged easily, swinging back towards Gimli's head. The dwarf ducked and the fight began in earnest.

Both were somewhat trained in fighting. Gimli had been in more brawls, of course; Estel didn't have the peers necessary to brawl with, but Gimli was unused to an opponent who moved so fundamentally different from a dwarf. Estel had the same difficulty, being used to elves and unused to fistfights. He learned rather quickly. What began as blows swiftly turned to wrestling and then to rolling about on the ground. Gimli couldn't get a real solid hit in, but neither could Estel easily dodge in such close corners, and both were becoming rather bruised and bloody, each growling insults at the other.

Estel, eventually, found himself on top of the dwarf, and therefore theoretically winning. No matter how the dwarf twisted, the human was using his greater height to his best advantage and not giving any quarter. In fact, Estel was just about to demand that the dwarf admit that he had won, when he felt the unexpected weight of a third person jumping upon his back.

"Ha!" a high pitched warble cried as the unexpected move sent Estel collapsing on top of the flailing dwarf, "I've bested you both!" The weight was light, on Estel's back; Estel weighed rather heavier on the dwarf, but he had also released his hold and Gimli used the distraction to twist both Estel and the unexpected arrival off of him.

Legolas, for of course he was the one on Estel's back, easily jumped off again. Estel rolled off, in the opposite direction. And if this was all that occurred the battle that followed probably would have been epic as human and dwarf might join forces against this new warrior, or perhaps create a free-for-all, the likes of which could be talked of for ages afterwards (which is not to say that they would have attacked Legolas with the same ferocity as they had attacked each other; no boy of any honor would beat up on someone so obviously young and unskilled, but they might well have tackled him to the ground to wrestle a bit) if it weren't for the unhappy chance of location. Estel didn't so much as roll off of Gimli as he was flung off so that he tumbled into the ground at great speed. And, as luck would have it, directly into one of the many weapons racks positioned along the walls of the room. And these practice blades were not the wooden, blunted objects the novices might use.

So as it was, rather than rejoin in battle, all three youths froze and stared in horror at the blade piercing Estel's chest.


	4. Slain Estel

Chapter 4

Slain Estel

"You have slain him!" Legolas cried to the dwarf, his voice almost a scream of terror.

"I didn't!" Gimli answered, "What kind of idiotic people leave swords lying about a practice ring for people to fall on!"

"I don't think I'm slain," Estel thought to mention with a weak groan and both youths pounced upon him to inspect his wound. It wasn't as bad as it first looked. The sword wasn't piercing his heart; it wasn't even the tip of the blade he had fallen upon but its edge. It was still quite bad enough; it looked as though it had wedged a bit into his bone.

"I will go and get help," Legolas decided after the boys' quick examination, and he turned to leave at once. In fact, he moved so suddenly and quickly for the door that Estel's immediate call of 'No!' almost went unheard. But it was and the elf paused in the doorway, turning to see what the matter was.

"No," Estel insisted, "I'm alright, we can bandage it and I'll be fine." Both the elf and the dwarf stared at him in disbelief.

"He's in shock," Gimli declared at last, "Go on." Legolas went, despite Estel still trying to call him back. Finally, when it was obvious the elf was gone and wasn't going to heed his call, he let his head drop back with a groan.

"Foolish, flighty, man," the dwarf grumbled, using the nearest bit of cloth to try and stop some of the bleeding, as well as he was able without pulling the blade out. He had enough experience with such things to know better than to attempt that. Almost immediately after Legolas had left, he was returning with an adult elf in tow. In fact, the young elf had stumbled into the other almost as soon as he had run out the door. Explaining the situation had taken a bit longer, first because Legolas was too anxious to easily explain and second because he had somehow, without even realizing it, managed to get Estel's blood all over his own tunic.

The sight of an elfling covered in blood and babbling nearly incoherently in what sounded like at least three different languages was enough to send one of the sentinel elves running through the trees for Lord Elrond while Curanion frantically searched for the gaping wound. Finally, the elder elf was made to understand it wasn't Legolas's blood and allowed himself to be led to Estel.

No more than five minutes had passed before Lord Elrond dashed into the room, his eyes taking in everything from the strewn tunics to the blood to the guilty expressions before they settled upon his foster son. He was followed by what might have been taken to be an army in the form of concerned elves and dwarves, all wanting to know who was hurt and what had happened, all speaking at once with the fathers in the lead. For the first and probably last time in all their history together, Gloin and Thranduil rushed into the room in concert without even seeming to notice their company.

"Silence, please," Elrond called before they could begin to interrogate their sons. Another elf took it on himself to send the others out of the room, all except for the children and their guardians, just as the twins came running in carrying a satchel for their father. There was no hint of merriment in their eyes in that moment but a shadow of darkness so deep it was frightening to see.

"We didn't touch the swords," Estel said, his eyes bright with a mixture of pain and guilty worry as Elrond probed the wound, "I tripped into it."

"Later," Elrond answered, "Let's take care of this first. Drink this." As Elrond and one of the twins helped him to drink from the vial, the other twin checked on the remaining children.

"Why do I have to take my tunic off," Legolas asked, "I told you I wasn't hurt. I was winning because I was on top and then I jumped off and Estel was slain, but he says he wasn't."

"Sometimes when you are excited, you can get hurt and not feel it," the twin Elrohir said after he finished his inspection to his satisfaction before turning to the dwarf.

"Were you fighting, _honeg_?" Sidhodoron asked, his concern changing to incredulity of the entire situation as the bloody tunic was stripped away to reveal unblemished skin. Legolas didn't answer, his attention moving rapidly towards the healer and to the dwarf.

"I'm not removing my leggings," Gimli warned, his eyes glancing briefly towards Legolas before he looked away again.

"It's all right," Legolas told him, "It's not too cold. What is Lord Elrond doing to him? Is he going to sew his skin? Doesn't that hurt? Estel is very brave, isn't he?"

"I suppose he is," Gimli muttered, "For an elven brat." Elrohir finished his inspection of the dwarf quickly and without making him completely disrobe, but only because he hadn't gotten blood on his pants. He found him to be rather more battered than Legolas but nothing more than a few bruises and a bloody lip from the fight. As soon as his inspection was done, Elrohir returned quickly to his foster brother's side, where the twins and Elrond discussed the situation in softly spoken Elvish. A moment later he returned to the guests.

"Excuse me," he said, "But perhaps you would like to return to your rooms?"

"I wouldn't," Gimli said softly, "I probably won't be allowed out again for our entire stay." He probably meant to not be heard, but he was not yet used to the hearing ability of the elves.

"Why won't you be allowed?" Legolas asked with concern as he was wrapped with Thranduil's cloak and then lifted before he could protest, "Is it because you slew Estel?"

"I didn't slay him!" Gimli cried before remembering they were to be quiet.

"We will discuss this when we get to our rooms," Gloin said, his voice stern and foreboding.

"I don't want to leave," Legolas said even as he was carried out the door, "I want to see what happens to Estel. He isn't going to die, is he? You said a goblin hit Saewathol in the chest and you said he wasn't hurt bad but he died."

"Can you die from such a scratch?" Gimli asked, suddenly sounding worried himself, "There was a lot of blood."

"Saewathol died of poison on the blade," Thranduil was quick to answer, "Estel will be fine." Surprisingly, the elves and dwarves continued to walk more or less together until they reached the place where their paths diverged, and neither so much as exchanged glares. Of course, neither were they smiling or holding hands.

Author's note:.

Honeg, according to Hisweloke's Sindarin Dictionary, means 'little brother'.

Also, upon minor research (basically me trying to figure out which elven language Legolas and his immediate family is most likely to use amongst themselves (I am avoiding re-reading the books for a bit, but I can't resist languages)) I noticed that according to Wikipedia Thranduil supposedly has 'golden' hair (interestingly enough this isn't mentioned in his own entry but only in his son's under the speculation of Legolas's hair color. Which I did vaguely remember was mentioned to probably actually be dark but which I ignored and made blond anyway. At any rate, Tolkien never specified either, really.) The point of all of this is that despite the fact that this is AU and in the long run I doubt it really matters one way or the other (certainly I've gotten no emails or reviews attempting to correct me on the matter of hair color) and ignoring the fact that the brother isn't even mentioned in the books, I'll go along just this once and say Thranduil has 'golden' hair. Which means I had to rewrite a bit in the first chapter where I implied (but didn't outright say) that he had dark hair. Right.


End file.
